Daisy Chain
by VanillaDaisies
Summary: A quiet, nightly walk turns into something much more sinister when Jenna finds herself in the hands of a dangerous group of men. Thrust into a world of magic that she had no idea existed, Jenna finds herself at the disposal of their leader. Will they warm up to each other, or is Jenna's fate already sealed?
1. Snatched

Daisy Chain

Chapter 1 – Snatched

* * *

For the third time this week I have been deprived of a peaceful nights rest.

Ever since he left me for another woman, evil thoughts and feelings of insecurity have plagued my mind, intensifying at night whenever my eyes manage to succumb to the gentle temptation of sleep. Even in my state of exhaustion I can't escape him.

Josh and Jenna. We were meant to last forever. Or at least that's what I'd thought when we'd first gotten together three years ago. Now, I just feel foolish.

I glance over at the battered, baby pink alarm clock that is precariously placed upon a large stack of books on my bedside table. It's three in the morning, and I'm wide awake. I can't quite remember what my dream was about. Flashes of Josh embracing another woman run through my mind, accompanied by the laughing faces of the various locals of Bibury. That's the problem with living in a small village. Everyone knows everyone's business. Nothing is private.

The sound of rain hammering against the dainty windows of the cottage reaches my ears. I used to love my little home. Located on the edge of the river Coln, I found it quaint and cosy. Now, it just provides me with feelings of loneliness and abandonment. What once had been a cluttered and homely dwelling was now empty and unnaturally sterile. That's what I do when in a depressive state. I clean, almost manically. The house had been scoured from top to bottom. Not that it had taken very long. Josh had taken the majority of the furniture when he'd left, and now I've been left with a near-empty hovel of a home.

With a heavy sigh, I heave myself out of bed. No point in attempting to go back to sleep, I know it won't happen. The idea of another sleepless night spent staring at the ceiling in complete desolation is not something I want to endure. No. I'm going for a walk, to clear my head. A stroll down the river trail would do it.

After pulling on a black and white striped t-shirt dress, I grab a pair of white trainers. The sound of the rain has lessened, and I grab an oversized gray cardigan to cover me from the bitter April weather. I know that I'm probably going to regret my attire later, but right now I just need to feel the wind and rain on my skin. To wash away all my problems and mental exhaustions, even if only for a little while.

Truth be told, this isn't the first time I've gone on a hike in the early hours of the morning since the breakup. This routine has been a weekly ritual for the past month. Turns out I'm not so good at handling a breakup.

Grabbing a torch from one of the rickety kitchen drawers, I make my exit via the back door of my cottage, not bothering to lock the door. Bibury is probably the most boring, safest village in the United Kingdom. Nothing ever happens here, but that's how I like it. It's like it's in its own little bubble, isolated away from the rest of the country, surrounded by nothing but fields, trees and winding country roads.

Even at night it looks pretty. The crescent moon hangs high in the sky, half hidden behind masses of dull, grey clouds, but even the bitter weather can't diminish the striking serenity of my favourite river trail. Not a soul is in sight of course. All the other villagers are probably cocooned in their duvets right now, enjoying their slumber and not moping after some stupid man. I click my torch on as the glow from the village streetlights slowly begin to fade away, and I delve deeper down the path by the riverside. I know that tomorrow I will regret my little nightly adventure, however, my job as a dental receptionist doesn't require much concentration at times. I'm sure if I feign being sick Dr Abrahams will allow me to take it easy behind the front desk, carrying out only menial tasks for the day.

I notice that one of my laces has come undone, and as I kneel down to tie my shoe, my hand grazes softly against the dainty, daisy chain tattoo around my left ankle. My first ever tattoo. I'd gotten it done four years ago on my twentieth birthday, a little gift from my mother. I've always loved daises. They're simple yet pretty. Minimal. I'd only ever been brave enough for one other tattoo after that. Needles aren't really my thing, but I'd managed to endure getting a small bouquet of daises tattooed on the back of my upper right arm.

As I slowly tie my laces, the torch on the ground besides me begins to flicker. I frown, trying to remember the last time I changed the batteries. Maybe I ought to head back? Though I've always felt completely at ease in Bibury, the idea of walking around with no source of light isn't the most comforting.

I quickly straighten up, the flickering torch held tightly in my hand. I'm about to turn back when something reaches my ears. Voices? At roughly 4 in the morning? It can't be. I freeze, straining to decipher the sound. Maybe it's just the wind playing tricks on me.

Nope.

I can definitely hear voices. Men's voices. They're closer now. And there appears to be more than one of them. I feel a slight prick of fear. It's not common for people to be out this late in Bibury, nor do we often get groups of rowdy men lingering amongst the hiking trails. This is weird. Maybe my nightly walks aren't as safe as I'd originally thought. If my mother knew I was venturing out in the early hours of the morning she'd be so angry.

I quickly turn as the voices loom even closer, deciding that now would be a good time to disappear. I'm going to go straight back home, lock all my doors and curl up under my duvet, safe and sound. Only I can't quite do that now, as someone is blocking the path. A very large, sinister being. My torch finally fails, and now I'm in completely darkness.

The silhouette of my new companion stalks forward.

"H-hello?" I call out nervously, hoping that a familiar voice will answer, and the looming silhouette will turn out to be one of the villagers.

"Hello, lovely,"

I whirl round as a voice sounds out from somewhere behind me. My heart is pounding. It's too dark to make anyone out, and I can feel myself beginning to panic as my eyes blindly search the dark path ahead to find the source of voice.

"_Lumos."_

My vision is suddenly obscured by a blindingly bright light, and I lift my arm up to shield my eyes. To my horror, there's now a group of at least ten men surrounding the perimeter. This can't be good.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here, then?" The voice from before rings out again, and the speaker finally steps forward. He looks rather rugged, with tatty, long brown hair, a long leather jacket and plaid pants. Overall, I note he looks a little scruffy, and I begin to wonder if these guys are homeless. Maybe they're trying to mug me? I internally scream for not bringing my purse with me, maybe I could've appeased them with money if I'd brought it.

He walks forward until we're face to face. In his hand is a wooden stick with a bright light glowing at the end of it, illuminating the perimeter. Maybe it's some weird kind of torch? It's amazing what kind of contraptions people come up with nowadays.

"What's the matter? Cat gotcha tongue?" He asks, and I flinch as his free hand comes up to grasp my chin, holding me in place. I'm terrified. I can't speak and my legs are shaking. How the fuck am I meant to get out of this situation? I wonder if I should scream or not. Will anyone hear me? I can't quite figure out how far down the trail I've made it.

The man smirks, tilting his head to the side as he asks, "You one of us?"

I merely blink in reply. I have no idea what he means? 'One of us?' Is this some sort of gang thing? Are they drug dealers? Some sort of sanction? My fear begins to bubble, and I realise that I'm potentially in serious danger right now. If I get out of this alive, I am never leaving my house after midnight ever again.

A bark of laughter sounds out behind me, "Looks like we've caught ourselves a muggle, Scabior," comes a terrible voice from behind me. I know that voice will haunt my nightmares. It's a low growl. Gravelly and deep, almost animalistic. In fact, it doesn't sound entirely human to be honest, as stupid as that sounds. I'm truly panicking now, and I'm pretty sure I've just been referred to as a muggle, whatever that means.

"You don't say," The man holding my chin, Scabior from what I can decipher, states, his eyes searching mine intensely. There's a devious glint in his eyes as he stares at me, almost in a curious manner. "You don't know a geezer called Jeremiah Mcauley, do ya?" He asks me. I shake my head quickly, too frightened to open my mouth. I don't even think I'm capable of speaking right now.

Scabior frowns at my reply, finally letting go of my jaw. My heart pounds. I'm surprised they can't hear it.

"Well, lad's, we've searched the entire village, looks like he ain't here," Scabior states, turning to his companions. I take a slow step back, hoping I can subtly sneak away. My escape ceases as he turns back to me, "Ah well, it'd be shame to walk away empty handed...I reckon we need a souvenir," He eyes me up and down, a devilish grin spreading over his features. I know he means me. This can't be happening. They can't take me.

I take another step back, and suddenly my back hits against something hard. I'd forgotten I was surrounded. I whip around, and immediately regret doing so as my eyes fall upon the most horrifying man I've ever seen. His eyes are an unnatural blue, and full of malice. His hair is greasy and matted, and falls to his shoulders in tiny dreadlocks. He's snarling at me, a row of yellowing, sharpened fangs bared in a way that sends a strike of fear throughout my entire body, and there's hair on his face. He looks positively wolfish, and suddenly I'm screaming, a sharp piercing note. I'm getting the fuck out of here.

My scream must have taken them by surprise, as I'm able to dodge past them, my legs carrying me as fast as they can. I've never been one for physical activity. I've always been tiny and on the skinny side, but right now my muscles are working overtime as I sprint down the trail, the useless torch still held tightly in my fist. If they catch me I can attempt to use it as some sort of weapon. Bludgeon them, maybe.

Who am I kidding? There's at least ten of them and one of me.

"Fuck, fuck, fu-" My curses are cut off as a heavy weight crashes into my back, sending me tumbling to the ground. I shriek in terror and pain. This is it. I'm dead. They're going to murder me and I know it. As a rough hand grasps my hair and pulls me to my feet, I can't help but wonder how long it will take for my body to be found. Maybe they'll dump my corpse in the river, and I'll be lost forever.

"C'mon girly, don't make this harder for yourself" The man who caught me grunts, shaking me a little, before chucking me back down to the ground. I land heavily on my knees, and knowing that there's no use fighting this, stay as still as possible. Maybe if I comply they won't make this too painful.

"I hate it when they fuckin' run," Comes Scabior's voice, and I shakily glance up. Tears are prickling in my eyes now, and I can't help but feel pretty pathetic as he approaches me. His hand grasps my hair, and again, I'm dragged to my feet. I'm surprised my hair is still intact with the way it's being pulled.

"C'mon lads, we're headin' back to camp." I whimper as he steps forward, his fist still buried deep within my hair. They're taking me, as if straight up killing me is not enough. I let out a small sob as I realise how hopeless this situation is. I don't know what's going to happen to me. I don't know where they're taking me. All I know is that I'm in danger.

His hand moves from my hair to my arm, his grip strong and painful. Before I can comprehend anything else, the earth is suddenly spinning. Something's happening. I feel as though I'm being sucked into a tight space, as the world around me spins faster and faster, into one dark blur. I close my eyes tightly, the feeling of nausea taking over me. All I can decipher is the harsh grip of Scabior. I just want it to stop.

_Please, something make it stop._


	2. Murder On My Mind

Daisy Chain

Chapter 2 – Murder On My Mind

* * *

It feels like the world has been spinning forever, the iron grip on my arm unyielding.

I feel sick. This is worse than the time I went to that amusement park and vomited after going on the Waltzer one too many times. Even with my eyes closed I can feel the air around me whirling round and round in an incessant loop. I hope I don't hurl.

The solid earth comes up to hit my feet suddenly, and before I can even attempt to regain myself, I fall to the ground, completely disorientated. I don't trust myself to open my eyes yet, and the cool, damp earth below me is too comforting to remove myself from. I curl myself into a ball, eyes tightly shut and my brain still fogged by dizziness. I can hear laughter. Those fuckers are laughing at me. But I don't care. I'm going to die by their hands anyway.

I whimper as a hand grasps my arm again. I'm not ready to get up. The earth is still spinning.

"C'mon, princess," Scabior grunts as he hoists me to my feet. To my embarrassment, I clutch onto the arm that's gripping me, worried that if I let go I'll only fall again. My eyes are still screwed tightly shut. If I open them I know my feeling of nausea will win, and I don't particularly feel like vomiting right now. I don't want to give these men any more reasons to laugh at me.

"W-where are we?" I mutter, shivering as a gust of wind pierces my skin. I can smell the earth, damp and rich from the current onslaught of rain, and there's a comforting smell of pine that complements it. The air is crisp and clear. I can tell we're somewhere rural. I chance opening my eyes, my vision still wobbly, but bearable. All I can see is trees. Hundreds and hundreds of trees and shrubs, accompanied by rocks covered in moss. It's all so green and pretty. In fact, if it wasn't for the dire situation I was currently in, I could see myself getting happily lost in a place such as this.

"The Forest of Dean," Scabior replies, leading me through the trees. I can see a small camp in a clearing just ahead. Tatty, yellowing tents have been set up, surrounding a now empty fire pit. There are three logs encasing the perimeter around the fire pit. Why have they brought me to their camp? Am I to be some sort of sex slave? Pet? A lost soul they can torture when bored? My heart is still pounding aggressively. It has been ever since they found me. I'm surprised it's still working, in all honesty.

"Sit," Scabior orders, shoving me down roughly onto one of the logs. The other men all busy themselves with tasks. Some retreat to tents, the wolfish looking man and another spread themselves out on the other two logs, and a third sets to work igniting the fire pit with a swish of a wooden stick, much like the one that Scabior had been holding a few moments ago. I blink in shock as a fire roars itself to life, crackling merrily and sending a wave of warmth throughout my entire body.

Scabior squats down in front of me, his face level with mine as he lazily drapes his arms over his knees. He pulls the wooden stick from before out of his jacket pocket, before grabbing my wrists, pulling them towards him. Tapping my wrist with the wooden stick, I flinch as a thick rope suddenly snakes its way out of the tip, looping itself around my wrist, and tightening to an almost painful level.

I'm in shock.

How the fuck did he do that? It's not possible. It can't be possible. Am I seeing things? Maybe I'm so traumatised from being taken that I've finally lost the plot.

"W-what?" I stare down at my bound wrists fearfully, attempting to pull them apart as though doing so will dissolve this illusion. When the rope does not budge, I glance back at the face of my captor, my stomach dropping at the malicious smirk that now sits upon his face. He's fucking with me right now, and he's enjoying it.

"Magic, innit'," He replies, pulling on the rope as though to ensure its secure enough. It's already beginning to rub painfully on my skin. There's definitely no way it's about to come loose. He can't be serious. But how else did any of this happen? The light illuminating from the end of what I'm now assuming to be a wand, the way we managed to travel from the village of Bibury to the Forest of Dean in a mere minute, the sudden appearance of a roaring fire, and now, the bound wrists. There's no explanation for how any of those things occurred. But magic isn't real. It can't be. It's just not logical. Maybe I've lost the plot. Maybe these guys have lost the plot too? Maybe we're all just crazy here.

"So, tell me, what's your name, lovely," Scabior asks, still positioned in front of me. One sharp push and he'd be falling backwards into the fire pit. I glance at the two men sat close by, wondering what would happen to me if I attempted to burn their friend at the stake. I notice that the beast of a man is watching me closely, and my courage fails me. I turn my gaze back to Scabior, deciding it's within my best interest to just lay low for now.

"Jenna," I reply. My voice is shaky and weak.

"An' how old are you?" He questions, his intense gaze never leaving mine. He tilts his head to the side, as though intrigued.

"24."

Scabior nods in reply, leaning closer slightly, "An' tell me, Jenna, what was you doin' out so late in the middle of nowhere?" His tone is casual, as though we're two people having a completely normal conversation. Except we're not. Nothing about this is normal. It's twisted and it's fucked up and I don't know what's going to happen to me.

A tear rolls down my cheek as I answer, "I couldn't sleep." My voice finally gives up on me, and my reply comes out as a whisper. A smirk slowly creeps its way onto Scabior's face, as his eyes travel up and down my entire being, stopping briefly to gaze at places they shouldn't. I feel exposed and vulnerable and I just want to go home.

He slaps his hands on his knees before standing back up with a small grunt, "Right, time for some kip I reckon," He states, before grasping my upper arm and again yanking me to my feet. I wonder what time it is. No doubt in a few hours time people will begin to wake up, their alarms ringing loudly, signalling that it's time to get ready for another days work.

As Scabior begins to lead me towards a tent, I can't help but wonder how long it will take for people to realise I'm gone. Will Dr Abrahams and my other colleagues worry when I don't turn up for my shift? Or will they shrug and just assume that I'm not well and unable to call in to warn them of my sickness? Will the police even be able to find me when notified of my disappearance? I left my house willingly. There will be no sign of foul play. Other than...

The torch!

The useless, broken torch is probably still somewhere on the river trail. Maybe they'll be able to see signs of a struggle then? Or maybe they'll just assume I fell into the river and got washed away. Everything just seems hopeless right now.

Scabior shoves me into the tent alongside him, and I'm amazed at how large and roomy it is. From the outside, it looked as though it could fit only one person in, maybe two if they squished together. From the inside, it's vast and probably bigger than my living room back at home. On one side of the tent is a large, comfy looking camp bed, encased in a number of tattered yet cosy looking blankets. The other side is empty, other than a hefty, padlocked trunk and a few discarded bottles that look as though they once contained some sort of alcohol.

"Sit," He orders again, pointing to the ground on the opposite side of the tent to the bed. I comply, not wanting to anger him. I'm going to play it safe until everyone is asleep, and then attempt to escape.

Scabior plonks himself down unceremoniously on the bed, pulling his jacket off as well as his shirt. I avert my gaze, tears prickling in my eyes again as I realise that this is my sleeping space. The floor, just like a dog. Except dogs usually have some sort of bed at least.

"'Ere," He barks, and before I can react something flies across the room, lightly connecting with my face, obscuring my vision. I can hear him snicker as I grasp the soft material in my fist, slowly pulling it off my head. It's a blanket. A thin, tattered, tartan blanket. I glance over to Scabior to see him settling himself in bed, his boots now lying discarded at the side of the bed, along with his jacket and shirt.

I merely sniffle miserably, slowly lying down and curling up into a ball under the blanket. It smells of the forest, with a hint of whatever cheap cologne my captor chooses to wear. I try to reassure myself, telling myself it could be worse. The tent, though tattered and worn, is relatively clean, and the blanket I've been gifted smells nice. I'm alive and unhurt. But those are the only positives I can come up with, and even the concept of being alive doesn't strike me as entirely positive right now. I have no idea what they plan to do with me, but it can't be good.

Maybe death would be a mercy right now.

* * *

If I thought sleeping back at home was difficult enough, it's nothing compared to now. The tent is filled with Scabior's loud snores, and outside I can hear the chatter and laughter of a few remaining men who are yet to turn in.

My cheeks are damp and sticky from crying so much, and my hair hangs down my bank, lank and messy. I fiddle with one of my brown locks, twirling it round my finger over and over again, my gaze fixated on one of the empty bottles nearby. The label reads _Simison Steaming Stout_. Feeling curious, I sit up, crawling as quietly as I can towards it. The glass feels cool and soothing against my hand, and I can't help but wish that I had some alcohol to soothe my nerves right now, or even to drink myself in to a stupor and hopefully die of alcohol poisoning. Anything to get away from this campsite.

I bring the bottle closer to my face, taking a quick sniff. Immediately I regret my decision, attempting not to gag. Whatever was in this bottle was strong. Way stronger than anything I'd ever drank before. The scent stings my nostrils, and I pull away, eyeing the bottle warily. What kind of shit do these people drink?

I glance over at Scabior's sleeping form. How could he fall asleep so easily knowing there was a hostage in the tent with him? I could choose to do anything right now, and he'd be oblivious. In fact, I'd probably attempt to escape if it wasn't for the men loitering by the fire pit outside.

As I glance at the closed entrance of the tent, I suddenly become very conscious of the glass bottle in my hand. An idea springs to mind. I could bludgeon this fucker in his sleep, wait 'til the coast is clear, and sneak out of the camp. The Forest of Dean is about an hour's drive away from Bibury from what I can remember. If I managed to sneak out of camp, I could probably hitch-hike a ride back to the village, where I would then go straight to the police.

My grip tightens around the bottle, and I slowly get to my feet. I silently kick my trainers off as to ensure my footsteps are as silent as possible. Scabior's snores continue to fill the tent. There's no way he's waking up, he's in a deep sleep. This is my chance!

I raise the bottle high above my head, freezing as his snoring falters slightly. He grunts in his sleep, his legs further tangling themselves into the blankets. I'm holding my breath, my heart pounding, and my eyes fixated on the sleeping form in front of me. Thankfully, his snores commence once again, and I let out a sigh of relief.

It's now or never. I'm not going to get another chance like this. All I have to do is bring the glass bottle down and smash it against his skull. And if that doesn't work, there are more bottles on the other side of the tent. No doubt the first one will stun him long enough for me to grab more.

My gaze hardens. I've never committed any acts of violence in my life, but this situation is desperate. _I'm _desperate. I need my freedom. I don't want to die at the hands of these strange men.

With that thought in mind, I spring into action. The glass bottle flashes down at lightning speed. It's about to connect, when suddenly, Scabior's eyes flash open. I shriek in shock as he grasps my wrist, and before I can react further my feet have left the ground, and I'm being flipped over, the world one scrabbled blur.

I squeal as my back hits the mattress, my bound hands pinned above my head. The glass bottle is still grasped tightly in my fist. Scabior is hovering over me, his knees positioned on either side of my thighs. He's almost straddling me, and I'm hyper aware that he has his wand pressed against my throat, sparks emitting from the end of it, burning the tender skin of my neck. I blink back the tears. There goes my great escape.

"You didn't think it'd be that easy, did you, love?" His voice is low and husky, with a dangerous undertone. He's angry. Of _course_ he's angry. I've just attempted to murder him. I should've known it wouldn't have worked. What did I think was going to happen? That his men wouldn't hear the sound of me bludgeoning their leader to death? That I'd somehow manage to escape the camp unscathed? I'm so stupid.

"I-I didn't-"I begin, before trailing off. There's nothing I can say to defend myself. He caught me red handed. I note that the chatter of his men outside has stopped. They're probably listening right now. Wondering what's going on. Wondering what I've done to displease their leader.

I stare up into the cold, grey eyes of the man above me, waiting with bated breath for my punishment. Will it be death? A beating? I begin to sob at the thought. It dawns on me how hopeless this all really is. I just want my mother. My sweet, sweet mother who probably doesn't even know I'm missing right now.

Scabior stares down at me, his dark eyes searching mine. I can't tell if it's just my imagination, or maybe I'm having a bout of delusional hope, but it seems as though his eyes have softened upon hearing my pathetic sobs. He rolls his eyes, rolling off me and flopping down onto his back, his eyes staring emotionlessly up at the ceiling of the tent.

"You women and your bleedin' cryin'," He mutters, shaking his head, "Go on, sod off and let me sleep," He sits up, shoving his wand back under the pillow. I gulp, desperately trying to cease my sobs as I shakily get to my feet. This can't be it? I've just attempted to murder him, and he's letting me off with nothing but a few burns on my throat? I sink down to the floor once I reach my little space of floor, staring at him through a blur of tears.

He has his back turned to me again, but his voice is dangerously calm, as he tells me "An' don't even think of tryin' out else. Next time I ain't gonna be so lenient."

I know he means it. I'm lucky he didn't kill me. I can't be so reckless. I'm treading on thin ice here. Yeah, I'm fucking miserable, and yeah, maybe I'd be better off dead, but I don't _want _to die. I want my freedom back. I'd do anything to get it back. I need to bide my time. Analyse my surroundings and the routines of the men around camp. Find a flaw in their schedules. They can't keep an eye on me all the time surely?

At this thought, I lay back down under my blanket, turning my back on my captor, as tears continue to pour down my cheeks.

Can I even survive this?


	3. Mudbloods and Muggles

Daisy Chain

Chapter 3 – Mudbloods and Muggles

* * *

My eyes are squeezed tightly shut.

Light is seeping into the room, attempting to creep its way under my eyelids. My bed feels oddly uncomfortable and hard, but I refuse to move or open my eyes. I had a terrible dream last night, one that has riddled my entire body with anxiety. I feel fearful. Shaken. I need to calm myself.

"It was only a dream," I whisper to myself determinedly, "It was just a dream. You're safe at home. No one's taken you. You're okay," I bring my duvet to my face, snuggling into it for reassurance. My stomach drops as I'm met with the scent of pine and men's cologne. Why does my duvet smell like this? This isn't my duvet.

I open my eyes, my throat tightening as I'm met with the sight of a yellow canopy, instead of my usual white ceiling. I'm in a tent. It wasn't a dream. It's all real. It's a nightmare come true.

I sit up quickly, glancing over at the bed on the other side of the tent. It now lies empty. Scabior must have woken up before me. My mind thinks back to the events of last night. I'd cry if it weren't for the fact that I spent most of the night sobbing myself to sleep. I'm not sure I have anymore tears left in me.

I sit still, not daring to move or make any noise. My eyes fall upon a small plate of food that has been placed on the floor beside my little sleeping space. On it lays a few slices of what looks like stale bread, and a cup of water. I immediately gulp down the water, not caring to check to see if it's safe. I'm sure if they were going to kill me they wouldn't need to poison my food or water to do so. I prod the bread, drawing my hand back in disgust as I realise how hard it is. There's no way it can be edible, nor do I really have much of an appetite.

At that moment, the opening of the tent flaps, and in walks Scabior. He cocks his head upon seeing I'm awake, his eyes falling onto the plate of food beside me.

"What's wrong? Food not good enough for ya', princess?" His voice is mocking, and I feel a surge of bitterness run through my body. Of course, this is all fun and games for them. It's a though I'm some sort of plaything.

"I'm not hungry," I snap, turning away from him as thought attempting to preserve some of my dignity. As though I'm not his hostage.

_Wrong move._

He stalks over to me, his boots heavy against the ground, and his movement deliberately slow. I'm on thin fucking ice after attempting to bludgeon him with a glass bottle last night. I can't really afford to be insolent. I glance at him uncertainly as he squats down in front of me, ducking his head down so that his eyes are level with mine. Before I can react, his hand is roughly grasping my chin, forcing me to face him properly. I don't bother to fight him, what good will it do?

"Listen 'ere, I suggest you try bein' a little more respectful, yeah? Don't want to ruin that pretty little face of yours now, do we?" He says this in a lofty, friendly tone, as though we're having a light conversation, but I know he's deadly serious. I swallow thickly, lowering my eyes. I can't even bear to look at him. I feel his hand loosen from my chin, and instead it travels a small way down to my neck. I wince as his thumb gently traces the burns that he inflicted on my throat last night. All this gentle treatment puts me on edge. I know that worse is to come. It's as though he's biding his time, deliberately playing with me. Giving me this false sense of security that they won't hurt me if I comply, but I know this is all a lie. They'll soon grow bored of me, and I dread to think what will happen then.

"Good girl," He whispers as I stay still, allowing him to tuck a loose lock of hair behind my ear. I want to flinch away from his touch, but doing so will only goad a reaction. "Now, how about we get you some decent grub, yeah?" I don't reply. I don't need to, as he's already pulling me to my feet, leading me out of the tent by my bound wrists.

From what I can tell, it's got to be midday. The sun hangs high in the sky, obscured by a large block of dull grey clouds. The campsite is bustling. Men are loitering around the roaring fire, bantering and jeering with each other, none of them sparing me a glance, besides one. A shiver of fear runs down my spine as my eyes meet the unnatural gaze of the wolfish looking man once again. I swear he never blinks. I find myself shrinking behind Scabior, attempting to hide myself from the beasts gaze. This does not go unnoticed. Scabior laughs.

"What? You afraid of old Greyback?" He mocks, grinning wickedly at his friend, who snarls at me. I flinch back, feeling my cheeks flush as laughter erupts from the campsite. I'm their toy. My fear amuses them, and it makes me feel sick.

"C'mon you numpty, he ain't gonna bite...yet," Scabior pulls me over to a spare log, forcing me to sit down, before he follows suit. His leg brushes against mine, and I find myself wishing he'd give me a little more space. He's too close for comfort.

"Oi, Angus, kick us up a bap, will ya?" Scabior calls out to one of his men. Angus immediately busies himself round the fire, and I'm soon met with the mouth watering scent of bacon and sausage. My stomach grumbles, and I can feel my face heat up as Scabior snorts.

"See, knew you was just bein' stubborn," He states, taking a bacon and sausage sandwich from Angus. I blink in surprise as he turns and holds it out to me. I hesitate, half expecting him to snatch the food back away and laugh nastily as I reach out to grasp it with my bound hands, but he does no such thing. I eye the food warily.

"What? It ain't poisoned. I already told ya, I plan on keepin' you around for a while," Scabior states. He must think it will reassure me, but it doesn't. I want to know _why _they plan on keeping me alive, but I daren't ask. Instead, I choose to take a small bit of the bacon and sausage bap. It's surprisingly good. I stay silent, staring curiously at the men around me.

"Oi, we got a tip off that there's a couple of blood traitors hiding out in Newcastle. Old Finchley tells me they've got a mudblood with 'em!" One of the men states, taking a large swig from a dirty looking flask. I rack my brains, trying to figure out what blood traitors and mudbloods are. I come up with nothing. It must be some sort of code. But the way he said those words, I can tell they're something bad.

"Newcastle's a long way from the ministry, though, innit? Reckon it'll be tough getting our hands on them," Another man replies.

"There's probably a snatcher camp closer to 'em than we are," A third pipes up, "By the time we make it down there they'll have probably taken 'em."

It's at this moment that my confusion increases, and it dawns on me that there's a whole other world out there that I had no idea existed until now. A world of evil and magic. It's something I can't understand, nor will I ever understand. It's so complex to think that something like it exists. But it does. Magic is real. I've witnessed it and can't deny it any longer. I glance at Scabior beside me, surprised to find he's staring intently back.

"Managin' to keep up with all this, love?" He asks. I can tell by the smirk on his face that he knows that I have no idea about anything. I'm lost and confused and completely out of my depth. I shake my head. "Right, so we're wizards, yeah? An' you're a muggle, non-magical," He begins. I nod slowly.

"So, we're Snatchers. We're workin' for the Dark Lord, gettin' rid of the dirty blood, see? Tryna' keep the wizardin' blood line pure by roundin' up all the mudbloods and blood traitors. They're no good, you see, give us a bad name. Don't know their place in this world," Scabior explains. I blink as I attempt to take in all this information. I'm immediately reminded of my old history lessons at school. World War II, in which Hitler attempted to get rid of everyone he considered unworthy, so that he could have his Aryan master race. My stomach churns at the thought of history repeating itself.

"W-what are mudbloods and blood traitors?" I ask quietly, although I think I already partly know the answer.

"Mudbloods are muggle-born wizards an' witches, and blood traitors are the numpties tryna' protect them," He replies, snorting as he shakes his head.

They think muggle-borns are inferior and unworthy, I realise. That means they must believe muggles to be the same. Never have I felt more alienated than I do now. These criminals believe themselves to be better humans than me just because they know magic. They treat me like dirt, taking me from my home and stringing me along as though I'm some sort of form of entertainment. Now I know for sure what will happen to me. They're here to round up and get rid of 'mudbloods' and blood traitors, and once they're gone, they'll turn on us muggles. My days are numbered, my life completely in their hands. I can't fight them. I'm powerless against their magic.

I'm fucked.


	4. Bath Buddies

Daisy Chain

Chapter 4 – Bath Buddies

* * *

The second night isn't turning out to be much better than the first.

It's like I'm establishing my own routine. I crawl under my little tartan blanket, make myself as comfortable as possible on the hard, solid earth, wait until the sound of Scabior's deep snores fill the tent, and then, I cry. And I know that this will be the same case tomorrow night. And the night after that. And then the night after that too. Tears of hopelessness, of fear, of loneliness and of complete isolation.

I'd tried to analyse the camp a little today. Sitting awkwardly by the front of Scabior's tent, my eyes carefully followed the various men around the camp, but there didn't seem to _be _a weak spot. These men don't _have _a routine or pattern to follow. They live freely, doing whatever the fuck they want. Lazing and bantering about to their hearts content, whilst I sit on my lonesome, hands bound, and unable to move without one of them questioning my motives.

Scabior hasn't spoken to me much today, other than this morning. Instead, he'd sat with Greyback and two others. They looked focused, and I could tell they were discussing their next target. Who would be subject to the Dark Lord's wrath next?

I sniffle hopelessly into the darkness, trying my best to stay as silent as possible. I don't want to risk waking Scabior, yet I can't help but tear up at the thought of another poor soul being taken away from their home, from their family.

I wonder if _my _family have realised I'm gone yet. If the police have been alerted. I've been gone for a whole day now. Surely Dr. Abraham's and my colleagues will have raised the alarm that I haven't turned up to work, that I've gone AWOL, which definitely isn't something that's ever happened before. My work attendance is impeccable.

I think of my mother, who must be worried sick right now. I usually pop over to her house for an hour after work every day. She lives on her own too, a single mother. We've always been so close. She's all I've ever needed. My dad left us before I was born, not that it matters much to me. I don't need a father. My mother managed quite brilliantly all on her own.

I choke back a sob at the thought of my poor mother sitting alone in her house, on edge and feeling fearful for my safety. I miss her so much. She's always been around to protect me, but I'm on my own right now. I don't know what to do. I just feel so helpless.

Another loud sob erupts from the back of my throat, and I freeze as a heavy sigh follows from the other side of the tent. I've woke him up. _Fuck_.

"_Look, _just shut it, will ya!? Can't a man get a decent nights kip around 'ere, fuckin' hell" Scabior snaps, sounding pretty annoyed. His voice is raspy and deep from being woke so suddenly. I refuse to turn and look at him. I _refuse_ to apologise. This is his fault. He took me. He's the reason for my tears.

"Look," He snaps again, and I finally glance over my shoulder at the sound of his exasperated voice. He's sat up in his bed, torso bare, with tattered blankets lying messily over his legs. "'Ere, just take this and get yourself comfy, and for the _love_ of Merlin, stop _fuckin'_ cryin'," His hands grasp one of the spare pillows beside him, and before I can react it's flying across the tent towards me.

I whimper as it connects with my face. It doesn't hurt, but I can't exactly say I was expecting to have a pillow chucked off my head. Scabior turns away, flopping back down onto his bed grumpily.

I know I need to be quiet now. His patience is wearing thin, I can tell. If I wake him up again, who knows what he'll do. I'd rather be stuck in here with him than outside with the other men. My mind immediately flashes to Greyback, and I quickly bury my face in the pillow, squeezing my eyes shut. It smells like Scabior, just like the blanket. A combination of pine, cologne and smoke. It's not a bad smell to be honest, but it provides me no comfort.

With the pillow pressed hard against my face, my sobs are now muffled, and my thoughts plagued with nothing but fearful flashes of the men outside.

* * *

_The air is still around me._

_It's cold. Freezing actually._

_Crunchy leaves of gold, brown and orange litter the path before me. Ahead stands a quaint, neat little cottage. __**My**__ cottage. Only something is different. _

_The full moon casts an eerie glow around the building, as though it's centred in the middle of its own little spotlight. The windows are dark and empty. There's no sign of life within the dwelling, and yet, I can sense something or someone is in there, waiting for me._

_My feet crush the leaves below me, a satisfying crunch following each step. I feel apprehensive. I don't particularly want to enter my little home, but it's like the building is drawing me in. Like magic._

_The door swings open noiselessly. My voice echoes as I call out._

"_Hello? Anyone here?"_

_Silence._

_I take a few, small steps further into the hallway. A breeze rustles through the house, and the door to my right gently swings open a few inches. I don't like this. Something doesn't feel right._

_I carefully place my hand upon the smooth wood, pushing the door open further, as I take my first few tentative steps into what should be my living room. Except it's empty. Void of any furniture. It's as though no one lives here. As though it's been abandoned. The carpet is thick with dust, the walls stained and peeling. I step fully into the room, my eyes widening as they fall upon a familiar figure. _

"_Mum!" I cry out, tears immediately welling in my eyes. She stands in the middle of the room, her pale face illuminated in the moonlight that seeps through the mucky window. I've never felt so relieved, but immediately I notice something is wrong. _

_A twisted, unnatural smile is planted on her face. Her large, blue eyes, eyes that are so similar to my own, are wide and frozen. It's like she's here but she's not. Devoid of any emotion, she's like a corpse, just standing in front of me, unblinking and unmoving._

_I take a step forward, feeling afraid, "Mum...? It's me...__**Please**__, I need help. They've taken me, and I can't get away, I-"My voice falters, as out of the shadowy corner of the room, something shifts._

_It's like everything seems to move in slow motion._

_A silhouette slowly seeps out of the shadows. A very large and imposing silhouette. It stalks towards my mother, who continues to stare blankly ahead, unaware of the danger that lingers behind her._

_Long, yellowing nails grip my mother's shoulder, as the intruder steps into the moonlight, unnatural, electric blue eyes flashing in the light._

_Greyback._

_I scream out a warning, but it's too late. His fangs have sunk into my mother's neck, and suddenly there's blood everywhere. So much blood. It spurts out of her neck violently, cascading down her chest, staining her t-shirt and sticking to her hair. Her head falls to the side, as she stares blankly at me with that sinister smile._

"_NO! __**MUM!**__ PLEASE STOP! LEAVE HER ALONE!"_

_Greyback raises his head from her neck, a nasty, animalistic grin on his face. Blood runs down his chin, staining his teeth and lips. He drops her to the ground, and her body hits the carpet with a dull thud. I wish she would stop smiling. Stop staring at me. I can her hear breathing, air rattling through her broken throat, and now it's my turn._

"_Please," I whimper, as Greyback slowly approaches, trailing blood over the already unkempt carpet. My pleas fall upon deaf ears, and he lunges towards me, fangs bared, claws sharpened, ready to pierce and tear at my skin._

"_**NO!" **_

I sit up immediately, sweat drenching my skin, my chest heaving as I pant heavily, desperately trying to catch my breath.

"Whuzzat?" Comes the dazed voice of Scabior.

I can't even muster a reply. I hope he'll just fall back asleep.

My hair is damp and matted against my scalp, my skin pale and sticky. I'm shaking. My mother. My poor, poor mum. I cover my mouth with my bound hands, as images of her sick, smiling corpse staring up at me from a pool of blood flash through my mind. Though it was only a dream, the idea of her murderer sitting outside probably listening to me panic makes me sick. I need to get away from here. I can't be here for a second longer. I can't breathe.

Scabior sits up in bed, rubbing sleep from one of his eyes as he stares at me, blinking in a confused manner. He's clearly still half asleep. I wonder how mad he's going to be once he regains his composure and realises I woke up him for the second time. I slowly lie back down, pulling the blanket up to my chin, hoping he won't be too harsh.

I can hear him moving now, the bed creaking slightly under his weight as he gets to his feet. I wait for the rough hand to pull me up by my hair or by my arm, but it never comes. Instead, a finger prods my shoulder blade. I turn over apprehensively, staring up at him.

"C'mon," He states, straightening up and nudging me with his foot. I comply.

"W-where are we going?" I ask nervously. He's calm. Oddly calm considering I woke him. I wonder if this is it. The calm before the storm. Maybe he's finally grown sick of me.

"For a bath. See if we can calm you down, yeah?" Scabior replies, leading me out of the tent by my bound wrists, "Besides, can't have you stinkin' up the place, can we," He adds, smirking at me. It's not his usual, smug smirk. This one seems more friendly. Kind, almost. I feel confused.

It's pretty once we step outside. The sun is only just starting to rise, casting gold and pink hues over the campsite. The clouds glow orange in the heavy light of the rising sun. I've always loved the sunrise, but I'm rarely awake early enough to witness it. Despite my horrific nightmare, it makes me feel slightly lighter. At peace. The heavy load of stress and exhaustion lessening ever so slightly.

Scabior also seems to be light in spirit. He whistles as we venture through the trees, walking jauntily as he leads me by my wrists. I can hear running water. There must be a river nearby.

Sure enough, a few seconds later we pass through another cluster of trees, and there sits a river, winding here and there throughout the trees and shrubbery. The water reflects the sunlight, glittering orange and gold. It looks inviting, but I know it must be freezing.

Scabior lets go of my wrists, and to my shock, begins to undress. I freeze, panic rising through my chest again. What's he planning?

He turns to glance at me once he's removed his shirt. I merely stare back uncertainly, unsure of what's going on or what I'm supposed to be doing right now.

"What you starin' at?" He asks, raising an eyebrow in a brash manner. I shrug. I have no words. I'm still shaken from my nightmare. I don't know what's going on with me right now. Or with Scabior, for that matter.

He sighs impatiently, "Well, what you waitin' for?" He pulls at my dress roughly, pulling it over my head before I can protest. I'm too scared to move as he continues to undress me, removing my bra and underwear, his calloused hands brushing against my bare skin. I know what's about to come. It's what I've been fearing the most since these men took me. I don't want this.

As he eyes me up and down, his tongue sliding over the corner of his mouth, I slowly come to my senses, bringing my bound hands underneath my chin, covering my exposed breasts. He rolls his eyes at this and shakes his head.

"Go on," He says, turning me around and shoving me towards the water. I blink in surprise, glancing quickly over my shoulder to see he has his back turned, his fingers working on the button of his pants, as he continues to undress himself. Was this really it? I'd thought he was about to assault me. My heart is still pounding as I slowly edge into the water.

I was right. It's freezing. I gasp as I wade further into the river, until the water splashes at my waist. It's exhilarating. I can feel my senses slowly coming back to me. I duck down further into the water, allowing my head to sink below the surface. The coldness of the water bites at my skin and stings my eyes

I'm alive.

Breaking the surface, I gasp and push my hair out of my face, rubbing my eyes furiously until they're dry enough to open. A small yelp escapes my lips as a very naked Scabior stands in front of me, the water lapping against his waist. He laughs at my reaction.

"What? Gotta keep watch in case you try an' escape again," He states, as I stare up at him in a scandalised manner, "No funny business, though, princess. I promise," He flicks water in my face, before turning his back on me. His hands begin to scrub at his skin, washing away any sweat or dirt. I stare at his back, watching as droplets of water fall from his long, tatty hair, trickling down his skin. I blush at the sight of his back, bare and lean. I haven't been in this close proximity with a naked man since Josh. It feels strange.

I copy him. Turning around and slowly beginning to rub my skin clean. The cold water feels amazing against my skin. The grime and dirt washes away, leaving me feeling refreshed. I begin to work on my hair, slowly untangling the knots that have formed. Scabior keeps his back turned for the most part, only turning to glance over his shoulder every now and again to ensure that I'm not trying to escape.

I can tell that moments like this will be rare to come by. In fact, I might not get another moment like this again should they choose to dispose of me. This could be my last bath ever. I savour it, trickling the water gently over my skin, guiding it through my hair, splashing it over my face.

I let out a content sigh. This is the most relaxed I've felt over the last forty eight hours, and it makes me realise something. I _really _don't want to die. No matter how hopeless this situation might feel, I'm going to fight it. I'm going to survive. I can _feel _it. Scabior, though he's the one who took me, is the only one keeping me alive at the minute. None of the other men of the camp care about what happens to me. Most of them don't even acknowledge me. The only reason they haven't killed me yet is because Scabior keeps me around, and the thought of him becoming bored of me is terrifying. What will happen to me then?

All I know is that I have a strong urge to live.

I'll do anything to stay alive.


	5. Nowhere to Run

Daisy Chain

Chapter 5 – Nowhere to Run

* * *

He's gone.

Well. Not _forever._

He left two days ago, and is still yet to return.

Scabior said it was an easy target. A lone wolf. That's why the whole camp hasn't gone along this time. That's why I've been left under the supervision of only three men. It wouldn't be so bad, if it wasn't for the fact that one of these men is Greyback.

I've been desperately trying to avoid him, but it's hard when he's been assigned as my chaperone. That, and I don't have Scabior's tent to hide away in. Apparently it's out of bounds, according to Greyback. He doesn't trust me to stay in there alone. Thinks that I might try and escape when he's not looking.

He's right.

I feel miserable. More so now that I don't have Scabior looking after me.

Yeah, I might be Scabior's prisoner, but at least _he_ fed me, gave me my own blanket to sleep under, and allowed me to take baths without watching. Greyback's eyes just never seem to leave me. He's always there, looming in the background, his cold, unnatural gaze fixed on my form, full of malice.

I know he wants nothing more than to get rid of me.

I shiver and pull my cardigan tighter across my body as I glower over at Greyback. He's sitting by the roaring fire, basking in the warm glow as he smirks over at my cold, shivering form. This is torture. I'm freezing and I'm hungry. I haven't eaten since Scabior left. How long does it take to capture one guy?

The other two men aren't much better than Greyback. They completely ignore my existence. It's like I'm not even here. I suppose I'd rather be ignored than be stared at constantly, however.

I sit in my little corner of the camp, an escape plan running through my head. I don't know when or if Scabior is coming back, but I know for sure I can't just wait around. The camp is near empty, surely it should be easier for me to escape now? I know for a fact the other two men wouldn't notice if I disappeared. I just need to get Greyback to drop him surveillance, and I think I know exactly how to do it.

I get to my feet slowly. Instantly Greyback straightens up, his eyes trained carefully on me as I walk to my nearest captor.

"Um...I need to pee," I state, standing awkwardly as the man gawps up at me in confusion. Toilet breaks are the only time I get any privacy. If I'm going to escape, it's got to be when they least expect it.

The man sighs heavily, before straightening up, "Oi, Greyback! She says she needs a piss," He calls crudely. I pray that Greyback doesn't choose to accompany me. It'd be a lot easier to escape if he wasn't my toilet break chaperone.

Greyback rolls his eyes impatiently, "Then take her! Just make sure she doesn't try anything'" He snaps, leaning forward towards the fire, staring into the depths of the flame. My stomach drops slightly at his words. He's never gave that warning before. Does he know that I'm planning something? I bite my lip nervously, wondering if I should forgo my escape plan.

_No._ I can't. I'm not going to get many more chances like this. Who knows when Scabior and the other men will return?

The man grabs me by my bound wrists, hurriedly rushing me out of camp, "C'mon then. You heard Greyback, no _funny _business," He states, pulling his wand out. I eye it warily, wondering if I can escape against magic. Hopefully by the time he notices I've made a run for it, I'll be out of the firing line and long gone.

We walk for a few minutes, before we reach a large bush. I've named it my pee bush. I've become very familiar with this bush over the past few days. I glance at my chaperone as I skirt around the shrub.

"No looking!" I state, ducking down behind the bush, as though preparing to do my business. He merely sighs and complies, turning his back to the shrub. I don't even wait. I'm sneaking away the moment his back is turned, choosing my steps carefully and hoping he doesn't notice the lack of noise.

"Hurry it up will, ya?" His voice calls. I freeze, glancing over my shoulder to make sure he hasn't stolen a look. He hasn't, thank God.

"S-sorry, I'm just struggling a little. Give me a minute," I call back, hoping he doesn't notice that my voice is farther away. Thankfully, he doesn't seem like the sharpest tool in the shed, as he remains oblivious. I continue to creep away through the undergrowth and trees. I need to hurry up. He's going to realise something's up if I take too long.

At that thought, I quickly rise to my feet, deciding that I should be able to make a run for it without causing too much noise.

I couldn't be more wrong.

Turns out running on the damp, rough earth of the forest is louder and harder than it looks. The ground is uneven and littered with twigs that crack loudly underneath my feet, and my bound wrists make me feel awkward and clumsy. The wind flows through my hair as I sprint as fast as my legs can take me, the shouts of my captors reaching my ears.

"OI! STOP!" Comes an angry yell, "LADS! SHE'S TRYNA ESCAPE!"

I refuse to look back as I weave through the trees, my heart pounding and my breath coming out in heavy pants. I've got a head start, and I'm confident I can lose them in the forest. There are plenty of places to hide.

Rain is starting to pelt down from the heavy, dark clouds above. The ground is becoming wet and slick, but I can't slow down. If they catch me now I'm dead for sure.

I awkwardly shift my hair out of my face with my bound hands, my locks are now drenched and my clothes stick to my body. The rain is cold and hard on my skin, but it keeps me going. I'm alert, my senses are at their peak. I can hear footsteps pounding behind me, an angry, animalistic grunting reaches my ears. I know who it is, and I know I'm fucked.

Sure enough, a heavy weight crashes into me from behind as a pair of strong arms encircle my waist, tackling me to the ground. I land hard, sticks and stones pressing hard into my skin and mud splattering up my body. I scream in terror and in pain. I'm done for. This is it. I had my chance to escape and I failed.

I can feel myself being turned over violently, and I let out another scream as Greyback hovers over me, his eyes furious and full of hatred. It's just like my nightmare, except so much worse. His pointed teeth are bared, and his sharpened, yellowing nails dig into my skin painfully. The scent that reaches my nostrils is sickening. A mixture of dirt, sweat and something that smells suspiciously like the repulsive odour of blood.

"Thought you'd make a run for it, eh?" He growls, his pupils dilating. Something clicks in my brain, and I realise that the man above me isn't fully human. He's too bestial, too _savage_, and I know he's about to murder me in the most painful way he can.

"P-Please don't," I beg pathetically, tears streaming down my face as I desperately thrash about underneath him. The cold rain splashes hard against my face. I don't want to die. "Please! I'm sorry I'll do anything just let me go!"

I know my pleas are useless. This man doesn't have enough human left in him to show me any mercy, but I can't stop myself. I know that no matter how hard I fight, it's going to be in vain.

He presses a finger to his lips, his eyes flashing menacingly as his other hand runs down my arm. His claws rip into my skin, drawing blood. I screech again, my legs kicking as I attempt to chuck him off me. This does not go down well.

"You should learn to play nice, little girl, I was going to go easy on you," He rasps, placing a hand around my throat. I can feel his nails digging in, "Not now though...I'm going to enjoy ripping out that pretty little throat of yours," I choke as his fingers tighten, his claws pulling at the skin. It was no empty threat. He's really about to rip my throat out with his bare hands. I try to scream but his grip is too tight. Rain continues to fall upon my face, mixing with the tears that are now streaming from my eyes.

So this is it.

This is how it ends.

I can feel my skin tearing as he slowly begins to pull harder, his eyes fixated on my face, savouring my pained expression and my fearful eyes. I wonder what will happen to me when I die. Is there an afterlife, or will I just fade away into nothing? I'm scared to find out.

"That's enough, Greyback!"

I can't believe it. My eyes widen as a familiar voice rings out. I daren't move.

Greyback's grip on my neck loosens slightly, and he glances over his shoulder quickly.

"Scabior? When did you get back?" He asks, immediately straightening up and stepping away from me. My bound hands immediately grasp at my throat as I gasp for breath. Everything is still intact, though my skin feels mangled and cut. I chance a glance at my saviour, my eyes falling upon a furious looking Scabior. My relief fades. Greyback didn't manage to kill me, but Scabior looks like he will.

"Just after you left camp like a ravin' lunatic. Flynn told me you'd gone after her," He steps over to me, his eyes raking over my body. His eyes flash angrily, "I told ya I wanted her kept alive, and 'ere you are attemptin' to rip the poor lass to shreds." His voice is low and dangerously calm. I slowly inch backwards, using my bound arms to keep me upright. My legs are cut and bruised, my dress muddy and drenched. There's blood staining the fabric, and I notice the deep cuts that trail down my left arm. The adrenaline and shock running through my body keep the pain at bay.

"She was trying to make a run for it, Scabs," Greyback barks back, casting me a dark look, "What else did you expect me to do?"

Scabior snorts in disbelief, "Not fuckin' _murder_ her, you numpty!" He snaps. Greyback merely glares back at him. "Look, just go back to camp. Let me deal with her." This does not sound good. I watch as Greyback retreats, stomping angrily back to the campsite, leaving Scabior and I alone. I wonder what he's going to do with me.

Before I can react or flinch back, his hand grasps a fistful of my hair, and he practically yanks me to my feet. I whimper, biting my lip to stop any pleas from escaping. Begging only spurs these men on, and it definitely won't help me now.

Scabior leads me over to a nearby rock, where he plants me down on it roughly. The surface scrapes against the back of my legs, and the coldness only adds to my shivering. I'd do anything just to be sat back in the warm tent right now.

"What did I tell ya about tryna' escape!?" Scabior demands angrily, raising his voice ever so slightly. I stare down at my feet, unable to answer. "I warned ya! I told ya if you tried escapin' you'd get hurt," He pulls out his wand, and my breath hitches in my throat. Is he going to burn me again? Curse me? Hex me with a slow and painful death? Scabior takes no notice of my apprehensiveness, and instead grasps my arms, pulling them towards him so he can examine the cuts. He frowns lightly.

"H-he's not human, is he?" I stutter out. The silence is killing me.

Scabior glances at me and shakes his head, before tapping his wand against my cuts, ignoring me as I wince at the contact, pain shooting through my arm, "Nah, he's a werewolf," He states almost casually. I blink stupidly.

"A...A what?"

Scabior snorts, "A werewolf. C'mon, even you muggles must've heard of them," His wand trails over my wounds again, causing them to burn and tingle painfully. What's he trying to do? I stare down at the angry red skin, shocked to see that it's now tightening, stretching over the wounds, fastening my skin back together. It's not perfect. The skin is lumpy and discoloured, scarred, but no longer causing me pain. He's _healing_ me?

He moves the wand to the gashes on my throat, and I crane my neck, allowing him full access. The skin stretches painfully as I do so, but I find myself trusting him right now. If he was going to punish me for trying to escape, he certainly wouldn't be taking care of my injuries. In fact, why _is_ helping me?

I sniffle, staring at him through watery, tired eyes, "Why are you being so nice to me?" I ask, staring at his face. His expression is unchanging, and he gives nothing away. Instead, he merely shrugs, his eyes fixated on the wounds on my throat as he continues to heal them.

"I told ya, I plan on keepin' you around for a while. You're mine now, yeah?" He answers, finishing up with my throat. He pockets his wand, his hands now making their way to my face. I'm more than surprised as he wipes my tears away gently, as though I'm about to break. He leans in close, his face mere centimetres away from mine.

"So stop tryna escape, it ain't gonna happen anytime soon, princess."


	6. Daisy Chain

Daisy Chain

Chapter 6 – Daisy Chain

* * *

The weather has finally cleared up.

The sun shines vibrantly over the forest, rays of light streaming through the gaps in the canopy of leaves overhead, casting small squares of warm light onto various patches of grass. One of these patches being a few inches away from the entrance of Scabior's tent.

I sit peacefully in this small patch of heaven, a modest gathering of daisies clustered beside me. I pick at them carefully, weaving their stems into a dainty daisy chain. It's odd to think that something so pretty and innocent can grow in a place such as this.

The whole forest is beautiful. It doesn't deserve to have something so sinister and malevolent besmirching its natural beauty. It's odd, how some of the most picturesque buildings and landscapes have the most grim histories and secrets.

The daisy chain in my hands is small and neat. I'm making it into a little crown. I used to love doing this back home when the weather was good. Just sitting crafting dainty daisy chain bracelets and crowns, on my lonesome or chatting with friends, it didn't matter. It kept me feeling content.

I need that little bit of comfort today. Though my arm is healed, and pain free, the scars now littering my skin remain, a permanent reminder of last night's events. Greyback sits nearby, basking in the glow of the sun, his eyes trained on me hungrily. I know he would've killed me last night. I know how resentful he feels that he didn't manage to get the job done. His eyes speak a thousand vile, little words.

I glower back at him. Scabior's kind actions from last night have rendered me more brave. I know no one in this camp will hurt me whilst he's around. Though I'm wary of my wellbeing still, I know that until Scabior gives the say so, I'm safe.

As though he can tell I'm thinking of him, Scabior wanders away from his men, settling himself rather ungracefully on the ground next to me. His rests his elbows on his raised knees, his hands fiddling with a long blade of grass.

"What is it with you and bleedin' daisies?" He asks me, staring ahead, his grey eyes focused on a small group of his men who are sat by the empty fire pit, playing poker with a tattered set of cards. I glance at him confusion.

"Huh?"

"Those tattoos of yours, they're daisies ain't they?" He points out, nudging the tattoo on my ankle with his foot. I nod in reply. I'm surprised he even noticed to be honest. The one on the back of my arm is usually covered by my cardigan, and the ankle one is small and simple. I don't know why, but the thought of him paying such close attention renders me flustered.

"I just think they're pretty, that's all," I answer, rather lamely. I can't really explain my love for daises other than that.

"Same as you, then,"

I blink in surprise at the compliment, the sincerity of the words throwing me off guard. He has a cheeky smirk on his face, and I can't help but blush, heat rushing to my face immediately. It's been a while since I've been complimented by a man, to be honest. Nearing the end of our relationship, Josh had turned cold and distant, and in turn I had turned insecure, questioning my attractiveness. I feel slightly ashamed that such a miniscule compliment can have such an effect on me.

Scabior seems to notice my embarrassment, as his smirk softens slightly. He gently takes the finished daisy chain crown from my hands, placing it carefully on my head. I can't do anything other than stare. I feel an unusual tug of warmth towards the man before me. I'd forgotten what it was like to be treated like this.

A small smile tugs at my lips. Scabior tilts his head to the side, studying my face.

"You got a nice smile too. Shame you don't smile too often," He notes. I laugh darkly at this, casting my gaze down to my hands as I twiddle a lone daisy between my finger and thumb.

"Can you blame me?" I ask, before I can quite stop myself. My eyes widen as I realise what I've said, and my breath hitches in my throat. All warm feelings are gone and instead replaced with a surge of anxiety. I hope I'm not about to be punished for my insolence. How could I be so careless?

Thankfully, Scabior merely sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, as though stressed. "I'm not doing this to hurt ya, y'know."

I can't help but feel curious at this. Why else would they have taken me, if not to torture and exploit me? This question has been running through my mind ever since the second day, and I finally feel brave enough to question his motives.

"Then why are you doing this?"

Scabior shrugs, his gaze now focused ahead again, "Suppose I took a likin' to ya'," He tells me, "You looked like a frightened little rabbit when we first saw ya...you're a pretty little thing," He turns, smirking at me as he says this.

I don't blush this time. The compliment feels more twisted now. _Sinister._ He seems to note my change in attitude, as he leans forward, his smirk dropping and his eyes glinting dangerously. "But trust me when I say, if you try an' escape again, it ain't gonna be pretty."

His warning strikes fear through my entire being, and I swallow thickly. I know he won't let me go. This is my life now. I'm stuck here, never to return. The only way I'm leaving this camp is if I'm dead. I have to make a choice. I can either make my life at camp as easy as possible, by being obedient and compliant, _or_ I can make another pointless attempt to escape, and die as a result.

It doesn't take me long to decide.


	7. Heated

Daisy Chain

Chapter 7 – Heated

* * *

Following my decision to lay low and accept my fate, life at camp has been relatively easy.

The men ignore me, Greyback fantasises about ripping me apart limb by limb, and Scabior keeps me tucked under his wing.

Still, I'm not exactly happy. How can I be? I'm not sure I'll ever feel happy again to be honest. Not without my freedom. But at least I'm alive. Although not for much longer, if the weather is anything to go by. I'm _freezing._ Even cocooning myself up in the tattered, tartan blanket doesn't work.

The bitter April wind slams against the tent, spattering the canvas with a surge of the heavy rain that falls down incessantly. It's been like this for the past few days. Nothing but gloomy rain. I can hear the wind roaring outside, whistling through the air furiously. The ground beneath me is chilled, and my teeth chatter furiously.

I close my eyes tightly, trying with all my might to cease the shivering. I wonder if I'm about to catch hypothermia? I huff, my breath hanging in the air in front of me.

"For fucks sake, what you huffin' about now?" Scabior asks irritably. It seems waking him up in the middle of the night has become a habit of mine now. I gulp, as I wonder how long it will be before this tendency gets me into trouble.

"S-sorry," I mutter, pulling the blanket tighter over my body, in a hopeless attempt to retain some warmth. I can hear him sitting up in bed, placing his feet on the ground. He eyes me for a moment as I peek at him over the top of my blanket. He doesn't look angry, just groggy, and perhaps a little exasperated.

"C'mere," He states, beckoning me over with his finger. Now I'm wary. What could he possibly want with me? Maybe I finally _have_ woken him up one too many times?

I shakily climb to my feet and slowly pad over to the bed, standing in front of him awkwardly. It's hard to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark and intense as always. I wish I could tell what he was thinking, to know if I was in danger right now or not.

Scabior holds a hand out, his wand in the other, "Gimme your hands," He states. I hesitate to comply. The wand doesn't help, and I can't help but feel vaguely threatened.

"Why?" I ask nervously. He merely smirks in reply, clearly finding my apprehensiveness laughable.

"I reckon it's time we got rid of this," Scabior replies, tugging on the rope that binds my wrists. It seems too good to be true. "Only if ya promise not to try anythin'. No tryna escape and no tryna smash me over the head with a bottle again," His smirk widens as he says this. I nod quickly in agreement, my heart soaring at the thought of being able to move my hands and arms freely from now on.

I _won't _take this for granted, and I won't _fuck_ it up by misbehaving. This is my one chance to show Scabior that I can be trusted. Though I know I'll never be free to roam outside of the camp, maybe gaining his trust will allow me a little more breathing space.

Scabior seems to notice the spark of hope in me, as he smiles. Not his usual, mischievous smirk, but an actual, genuine smile. He presses his wand against the rough knot of the rope, tapping it once. Immediately the rope loosens, slithering from around my wrist and falling away to the ground. The skin on my wrists is red and raw, but I don't care. It feels good to not have them bound.

Scabior notices the damaged skin, and I'm more than surprised when he gently rubs his thumbs over them. It's almost as though he's trying to comfort me. To my shame, the feeling leaves me with a feeling of warmth, and I almost don't want him to let go. Am I beginning to actually like my captor? What kind of fucked up woman warms to her kidnapper? I've only been in camp for a little over a week, but clearly being cooped up for so long has led me to madness. Still, as twisted as it is, I can't bring myself to pull away from his touch.

"You're freezin'" He comments, as his hands run over the cold skin of my wrist, his eyes finally taking note of my shivers. "C'mere, you numpty, you shoulda' said something'."

Scabior pulls me onto the bed with him, and again I find myself feeling surprised at his apparent concern. I don't understand where all this tender behaviour has came from, however, I can't help but feel immensely grateful as he pulls me down next to him. The blanket that engulfs me is warm and cosy, and covered in his scent. He turns me round so that I have my back turned to him. Lazily, he drapes an arm over my waist.

The spark that runs through my body at this contact is warm and exciting, and I can feel my cheeks begin to heat up. It's been a long time since I've lay with another man like this. I haven't shared a bed with anyone since Josh. It's odd, but the familiar feeling of having someone's arm draped over my form is comforting. I even feel _safe._

As Scabior's soft snores begin to fill the tent again, I take the opportunity to peek over my shoulder at him. He has a nice, ruggedly handsome face I suppose. His skin is smooth and pale, and a faint stubble covers the majority of his chin and jaw-line. As usual, his eyes are blackened and smudged with the faintest of eyeliner, and his hair is a tatty mess. There's just something charmingly wild about him. Even when he's asleep he doesn't look quite at peace.

Feeling slightly more content and a great deal warmer, I find myself burrowing into the blankets. I'm safe, I'm warm, and more importantly, I've been granted a small part of my freedom back. I'm no longer bound. I can move freely. I'm trusted.

Maybe there's a silver lining in this situation.

* * *

There's something prodding my lower back when I finally wake up.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out what it is.

I lay there as still as possible, relaying the events of last night. The bed is comfy and warm, and there's an arm draped lazily over my waist. The feeling of Scabior pressed tightly against my back causes me to flush. I feel my lower region clench tightly, a pool of warmth spreading through my crotch. I'm ashamed to admit that the feeling of his body engulfing mine is affecting me in ways it definitely shouldn't, the feeling of his hardened member pressed against my back causing my heart to pound wildly.

This isn't right.

I slowly inch away, sitting up and untangling our limbs carefully. I don't want him to wake up, I can't bare the awkwardness of it all. Unfortunately, it seems as though I've caused too much movement, and he grunts tiredly.

"Stop fidgetin' will ya?" He mumbles, his voice deep and raspy. My face feels as though it's on fire as I glance down at him. His eyes are squinting tiredly and he runs a hand over his face roughly. "Sleep well, princess?"

I nod quickly.

He seems to note my flustered state. A wicked grin spreads over his face as he notices my red cheeks, and he snickers at my embarrassment. "What? You gonna just stare all day or are ya gonna move so I can go sort myself out?"

I quickly move off the bed, getting to my feet. I don't know where to look. I just know that the sight of him smirking at my awkwardness as he stands there with his hardened member pressing against his trousers makes me want to die of embarrassment. It's not that I'm innocent or anything, it's just there's something about this man that has rendered me a mess this morning.

Scabior shakes his head, chuckling as he grasps his shirt and heads out of the tent for his morning bath, leaving me alone to dwell ashamedly on my apparent newfound feelings.

This is just tragic.


	8. Eavesdropper

Daisy Chain

Chapter 8 – Eavesdropper

* * *

They've gone on another trip again.

Apparently Scabior received a tip off about a 'mudblood' taking refuge in a small hideout near Bristol. Thankfully, this time Greyback has gone with him, although if truth be told, I'd rather Scabior hadn't left at all. I'm only completely safe when he's nearby, he's the only one stopping the other men from abusing or murdering me.

"Look, Angus, Flynn and Archie are gonna be stayin' behind with ya, and I've already warned them about tryin' anythin'," Scabior had reassured me, as he'd gotten ready to leave. My worry must have shown on my features. "They're under strict orders not to lay a finger on ya."

He was right too. They've kept well out of my way, allowing me to hide away in Scabior's tent, only coming in to bring me food at meal times. It's been rather lonely, not having anyone to talk to. I don't know how long Scabior and the rest of the snatchers will be gone for this time, but my anxiety flies through the roof whenever he's not here. I've come to realise that I _need _him. I've become entirely dependent on him. Despite being my captor, he's also a twisted kind of guardian. Keeping me alive, keeping the other men away from me. I find myself weirdly missing him.

I sit on the bed inside the lonely tent, fiddling with the tattered blankets that lay scattered over the mattress. It's getting dark, and the fire roaring outside casts an orange glow against the tent. A pleasant crackling fills the air alongside the heavy smell of smoke. I'd love to be able to leave the tent and sit in the warm light of the fire, but I know that without Scabior's company it definitely wouldn't be allowed. The left over men would probably just order me back to the tent.

"You reckon he's fucked her yet, then?"

I pause, my attention piqued as I hear these words. They're obviously talking about me. My stomach drops uncomfortably, and I immediately begin to feel uneasy.

"Nah, I don't think so," Replies another, he belches loudly, before continuing, "It's weird though, innit? All those other bitches he snatched he broke 'em in quick enough. Got rid of 'em quick enough too...no idea why he's chosen to keep this one around."

I feel my stomach clench. There's been _other _women.

Innocent women have been ripped apart from their families and brought to this godforsaken camp prior to my arrival. The news slaps me in the face, but for all the wrong reasons. Part of me sympathises and mourns for these women, the other part feels hurt almost. Did I really think I was the only one? That I was special? I hold my breath, keeping as quiet as possible so that I can catch the next part of the conversation.

"How long do you reckon he'll keep her around then?" One of the trio ask. I wonder why they're not bothering to keep their voices down. Surely they realise that I can hear everything?

"I dunno," Another answers, "But I do know that if the higher ups find out that he's keeping a muggle here, they ain't gonna be too pleased. We'll _all _be done for."

The other two men murmur in agreement. It's getting harder to hear them over the crackling of the fire. I carefully rise from the bed, tiptoeing my way to the entrance of the tent where I remain hidden in the shadows. This information could be vital to my survival.

"You don't reckon he's going soft, do you?"

A snort of laughter follows this question.

"Who? Scabs? Nah...course not...he'll come to his senses eventually. He's never been one to keep the same broad around for long. Besides, there're rumours of the Dark Lord planning an attack on Hogwarts soon. He reckons that specky _git_, Potter, will be making his way down soon."

I frown deeply at this news, as the men begin to discuss the attack on 'Hogwarts', whatever that is. There have been other women, and by the sounds of it, they've all ended up dead. Is that my fate? Have I been lead to feel this false sense of security? Have all of Scabior's recent tender actions just been to distract me from the fact that he's using me? But then again, surely if he was trying to use me for sex, he would've made some advances by now, right?

I plonk down on the hard floor, staring into space. I don't know how to feel. I'm worried. Worried and slightly confused. Why _hasn't _Scabior tried to have his way with me yet? _What_ sets me apart from these other women? The fact that I'm dwelling on a silly insecurity such as this fills me with shame, but I can't help myself. Scabior is only keeping me alive because I'm his toy, but what if he's decided he doesn't want me already. Maybe I'm not attractive or interesting enough. Maybe he's growing tired of me already and I'll reach the same end as these other women.

The thought of him fucking them plagues my mind. I wonder what it's like, to be fucked by Scabior. To have his rough, calloused hands exploring my body, gracing my skin. No doubt he'd be a rough lover. The idea of having him pound into me, his lips biting and nipping at the tender skin of my neck renders me flustered. I want him. And I want him to want me too. To find me attractive, and to keep me around. I can't have him deciding that he wants to get rid of me. I don't want to die. I need to do something these other women have failed to do.

I need to keep him interested.

I _want _him to be interested.

It's at this moment that I realise how fucked up and_ twisted_ my priorities have become.

In my desperate desire to stay alive, I think I may have fallen for my captor.


	9. Sleeping with the Enemy

Daisy Chain

Chapter 9 – Sleeping with the Enemy

* * *

The relief that surges through me upon Scabior's return is immense.

It's late when the group arrive back. The sky an inky black, dotted with clusters of stars shining brightly through the nightly haze. A light breeze rustles through the camp, and I curl up in Scabior's bed, pulling the blankets tighter around my form. I can hear them talking, but I daren't go outside. I don't want to appear too eager. It sounds as though Scabior and his men successfully caught their target however, as the array of voices are full of excitement and glee.

"Well lads, looking like we're gonna be eating well for the next month!" I hear Scabior's voice roar out. There's a flurry of cheers, followed by the clinking of tankards, and the jingling of coins. I slowly get to my feet, padding softly to the entrance of the tent. I remain hidden in the shadows, a position I have become accustomed to.

The heavy glow from the roaring fire illuminates the many faces sat around the pit. All carry an expression of exhilaration. My eyes fall upon the familiar form of Scabior, who has a broad grin plastered on his face. My mind flashes back to the conversation I eavesdropped on yesterday, and my stomach twists uncomfortably. I have questions. So many questions, and all of them are _utterly_ stupid.

As if he can feel my gaze, Scabior looks up, his eyes falling upon my face. I duck back into the shadows quickly, feeling embarrassed at the realisation that I've been caught spying. I don't know why, but I don't feel quite ready to face him. I feel shy almost. It's as though the conversation I overhead yesterday has changed everything, and all I know is that there have been numerous women before me. Scabior slept with all of them. Killed all of them too. So why hasn't he done the same with me?

My heart pounds as footsteps begin to approach the tent. I know it's him.

Sure enough, he ducks into the tent, an amused grin on his face as his eyes meet mine.

"Hello, lovely. Miss me?" Scabior grins broadly, his eyes dancing with mischief. My gaze lowers to the ground. I'm unsure how to act. He seems to note something is off immediately. "Why you hidin' away in here for?" He asks, taking another step towards me.

"I'm not hiding," I mumble out pathetically. I wrap my arms around myself, as though attempting to make myself as small as possible. I don't know why I feel so vulnerable. The heat of his gaze renders me nervous, and my stomach feels as though it's filled with numerous butterflies. I realise how much I've missed him these past few days.

He studies me quietly, his face now stoic, "What's up with ya? You don't seem yourself," He notes.

I glance up at him nervously, wondering if I should just mention what I overhead yesterday. I don't know how he'll react. Will he be mad? Or will he find my twisted feelings of affection amusing? Instead of worrying about my impending murder, I'm more worried about why he hasn't decided to fuck me yet. I'm a mess. A twisted, fucked up mess.

I take a deep breath.

"I...I overhead Angus, Flynn and Archie talking yesterday," I begin uncertainly, my eyes tailing Scabior as he walks over to the bed, where he sits down, spreading his knees and resting his elbows on them, bringing his hands together. He rubs a thumb along his bottom lip as he studies me carefully. He says nothing, and I take that as my cue to continue.

"T-They said that you'd..._taken _other women before me. That you'd done things with these women," I pause, my cheeks on fire as I try to word this as politely as I can. Scabior gives nothing away. "And...and that you'd killed them straight after."

Finally Scabior moves. He exhales loudly, before slowly heaving himself to his feet. My anxiety heightens. "So that's it?" He asks, taking a few steps towards me. His face is impassive, and I wish I could figure out what he's thinking. "You think I'm gonna kill ya?"

"Well you have threatened it. But that's not what I wanted to ask," I reply quietly, my voice barely audible. He's standing very close now, and my feeling of vulnerability heightens. I swallow thickly, my face heating up as I ready myself to ask the thing that's been bugging me since yesterday.

"Why haven't you tried to fuck me yet?"

A heavy silence falls as my question lingers in the air. The men outside continue to laugh and banter amongst themselves, completely unaware of and unaffected by our conversation. I don't know how I managed to ask Scabior such a thing. My mind flashes back to my first day at camp. I was terrified, lonely, and convinced I was going to die. I'd_ hated _Scabior. But everything's different now. I'm no longer as scared as I was. I even feel safe at times, and I definitely do not hate Scabior. He's turned from my kidnapper to my protector. He's all I know now. This camp is my new life, and he's the only thing allowing me to exist. It's weird, how things change.

A smirk slowly begins to make its way onto Scabior's face as he stares down at me. His eyes have darkened immensely, and the air is rife with a thick haze of tension. My heart is pounding, and a familiar heat begins to pool below my stomach.

"You sure you wanna do this?" He asks me.

I don't even hesitate. I need this. It's been too long. The desire to feel wanted washes over me. I need to feel the touch of a male, to release the tension that's been building up inside of me these past few days. I desperately want to please Scabior, to repay him for taking care of me this past week, ensuring that his men don't harm me.

Seconds later and he's closing the small gap between us, his lips meeting mine in a heated kiss. His lips are rough and chapped, but the friction they cause against my own feels amazing. He brings a hand up to my jaw, gripping my chin tightly, whilst the other travels down to my waist, where his fingers dig into my skin. I immediately react, my lips working against his in a hungry manner, my fingers tangling themselves in his tatty hair. The kiss is rough, intense and full of yearning.

"Eager, aren't we?" Scabior breathes as he pulls away, a cocky smirk on his face as he begins to walk forward, forcing me to back towards the bed, our bodies still pressed tightly together. I reply by crashing my lips against his once again. I don't want to wait any longer.

As we crash onto the bed, Scabior makes quick work of ridding himself of his shirt, yanking it over his head and chucking it carelessly across the tent. His eyes are dark, his breathing heavy, as he turns back to me, grasping me by my ankles and pulling me towards him, the blankets crumpling underneath me. He positions himself over my form, the weight of his body pressing down hard upon my own. I can feel his hardened member against my thigh, as his hands begin to pull my dress over my head. The cold air nips at my bare skin as my clothing is removed, and Scabior takes in my half-naked self, his eyes raking over my body.

A few seconds later and his lips begin their attack on my neck, nibbling, kissing and sucking on the sensitive flesh. His hands get to work on removing my bra, and I let out a quiet moan as his lips brush over a particularly tender patch of skin on my collarbone.

His hard on is rubbing against my entrance now as he begins to grind against my body. The friction caused from the movement feels almost irresistible, and I allow my hands to run down his bare torso fleetingly. His skin is smooth and warm, and he inhales sharply at the feeling of my cool fingers dancing over his stomach.

Scabior allows his lips to move down to my breasts now, his teeth latching onto my nipple, as his hand begins to knead the other. I gasp in pleasure at the sensation. My body feels as though it's on fire, and my core throbs in an almost painful manner. I don't care if the men outside can hear us. All I care about right now is getting fucked raw by this man.

My hand travels further down, past the waistband of Scabior's trousers, until it's brushing against the hard bulge that's now pressing against the plaid fabric. I rub against his member, palming him off through his trousers, taking in the delicious sight of Scabior's face contorting with pleasure.

"Fuck," He groans, his teeth biting down onto the sensitive flesh of my breast. I gasp at the mixture of pain and pleasure that shoots through my body. "You're a dirty little thing, ain't ya?" He mutters, his lips making their way back to my neck. I shiver as one hand travels down my side, his fingers dancing teasingly down my skin, making their way down to my crotch, where they begin to rub against my clit. It takes a lot of restraint to stop myself from screaming out at the contact.

"P-please," I whisper desperately, my fingers tugging on his dark locks. Scabior merely silences me, pressing his lips against mine in a rough kiss, as his tongue begins to caress my own in a sensual battle for dominance.

He appears to take note of my pleas, as a finger gently strokes against my entrance. "_Fuck_, you're so wet, princess," Scabior chuckles lowly, his lips leaving a trail of wet kisses along my collarbone. He's teasing me, and I hate it. I don't want to play around any longer, I just want him to fuck me.

"Please..." I moan again, my hips bucking.

There's a small pause as he fumbles to remove his trousers, and I quickly remove my now-soaked underwear. Our breathing is heavy, and the air is thick. I can feel sweat beginning to trickle down my neck, and I let out a breathy gasp as Scabior leans back down and runs his tongue along the skin, tasting me.

"You sure you're ready for this, princess?" He asks, as he aligns himself at my entrance. I nod eagerly, my hips bucking once again as I feel his member rubbing against me.

In one swift move, he's inserted himself inside of my entrance, and I let out a quick moan as my walls begin to stretch, adjusting to his size. Scabior positions himself so he's hovering over me, his hands placed on either side of my head, holding himself up. His smirk is wild, and his eyes are dark as he stares down at me in a hungry manner.

"_Fuck_," Scabior groans, his face contorting with pleasure, as he slowly thrusts into me, allowing me to fully adjust. I gasp as one of his hands moves to my hip, his fingers digging in almost painfully as his grip tightens. He begins to move faster, his pace quickening.

My back arches as pleasure shoots through my entire body, my fists grasping tightly at the blankets underneath me, "F-faster," I pant, my walls clenching around his sex as his thrusts begin to intensify. It's been so long since I've last done this. The feeling is almost overwhelming.

Scabior swears again, his pace intense and forceful. The air is filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, alongside our pants and moans. No doubt the men outside can hear everything, but I don't care. My pleasure is more important than my dignity right now.

My hands move to grasp his back, my fingers clawing at the skin as I hold on for dear life. He continues to pound into me, droplets of sweat slowly dripping down his face. The air is thick, and my body burns. The feeling of his throbbing cock pummelling into my core sends shockwaves of pain and pleasure throughout my entire being, as I edge closer to my climax.

"Y-yes!" I gasp, squeezing my eyes shut, my nails dragging down the sweat-soaked skin of his back, "R-Right there!"

Scabior grunts, both his hands now gripping the sheet tightly on either side of my head. He's close too. His eyes are glazed, and there's a protruding vein throbbing down the side of his neck. We can't last for much longer.

Sure enough, he thrusts into me again sharply, his member hitting the perfect spot. I cry out loudly, my entire body filling with heat as my orgasm washes over me. My body tremors violently, shaking with pleasure whilst fire shoots throughout my core.

As I ride out my orgasm, Scabior soon follows, a deep groan erupting from his lips as his eyes squeeze tightly shut. His seed spills inside of me, and the arm holding him up collapses, as he softly falls on top of me, panting loudly for breath.

"Shit, princess," He gasps, slowly pulling out of me, before rolling over so that he is now laying beside me. I can't even look at him. My eyes are glued to the ceiling of the tent, my breath coming out in sharp, ragged huffs. I can't even begin to comprehend how good I feel. It's been so long. I feel as though a weight has been lifted off me. It feels right, lying here with Scabior by my side.

I turn to look at him, my eyes meeting his gaze. He's breathless, and there's a strange glint in his eye.

"What?" I ask softly. It's at this moment that I realise how tired I am. Worn out from our prior activity, and from my sleepless nights without Scabior, I feel my eyes growing heavier and heavier by the second. Scabior smirks at my sleepy expression.

"Nothin'," He says, his voice low and his eyes shining with amusement, "You're just weird,"

I snort at this, rolling my eyes and allowing my gaze to fall back upon the ceiling of the tent. "Thanks," I reply, my tone laced with sarcasm. I can't help but agree with him though. I _am _strange. Strange and fucked up and weirdly content with it all.

"Who says I meant it in a bad way?" Scabior asks, chuckling quietly. His voice sounds tired too, and I know that soon we'll succumb to our exhaustion.

We fall silent. Both of us laying on our backs and staring up at the canvas of the tent above us. It's a comfortable silence. Peaceful. Almost as though everything's finally clicked in to place. It just feels _right_ being here, there's no other way to explain it. I belong here now.


End file.
